


Oh, kiss me.

by rottengirl420



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bill Skarsgard is Robert Grey, Breathplay, Breeding, Burlesque, Carnival, Choking, Circus, Dark Carnival, Dreams and Nightmares, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Late Night Writing, Light BDSM, Murder, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Partners in Crime, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Rough Body Play, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Stockholm Syndrome, Teasing, Tentacle Monsters, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-10-25 15:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20726426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rottengirl420/pseuds/rottengirl420
Summary: You'd always been a circus girl at heart.The Mister Greys Great Circus is in the town of Derry for it's 50th anniversary and you happen to catch the eye of a certain eldritch entity.\\ AU where Georgie doesn't get killed by Pennywise.





	1. Chapter 1.

_ Dear diary, _

_ What a miserable day it’s been. The sky is grey today. It is heavy with rain; summer has come to an end and finally the rains have come to wash the world and quench the soil.  _

_ I don’t mind the rain. But, today is not a day for rain. We have just arrived in the dainty down of Derry and are about to start our years residency. We haven’t been to a town like this in a while and there's a buzz amongst the camp, a good buzz, a happy buzz. I would like the rain to go away so i can get started settling in; my wagon isn't made for downpours like this.  _

_ Our first show is tomorrow, I _

_ There was a knock at the door. _

Then silence.

Then another rasp knock.

No rest for those at the circus, you suppose.

“Come in,” You sigh, closing up your diary and tucking it into your hand luggage and mentally promised yourself to finish that diary entry later. The person behind the door struggled with the old rotting frame. dealing a few kicks at the bottom of the painted wooden panels until it flung open, revealing Flea, another performer at the circus. Flea was in a ribbed yellowing white vest which was loosely tucked into a pair of his cream coloured bloomers. On his feet, he wore a thick pair of rain boots which were also covered in mud, the dark liquid splashing up his bare legs. His lips were curved into a mischievous grin, leaning into your wagon. He was up to something.

“What do you want Flea?” You crossed your arms and gave him the most deadpan face you could muster. Instead of taking the hint, his grin grew wider and dared to take a step into your wagon, mud pooling on your floor from his boots. He licked his lips slowly, eyes darting back out of the wagon to check if anyone could see him. Quickly, he dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a cylindrical glazed object with a red tip. 

“How about we take the horses and go and...paste up some posters?”

Only after narrowing your eyes at the object and honing in on what it was, you realised it was alcohol; the most forbidden thing on camp. You gasped and shot up out of your bed and darted to the door, whizzing past Flea and slamming the door shut.

“You crazy son of a bitch, why would you bring that to MY wagon?!” You hissed into his ear while he giggled through his teeth.

“What, am I not allowed to have fun or somethin’?” He tucked the neck of the bottle back into his bloomers as he perched on top of one of many of your suitcases, the leather creaking under his weight. 

You went back to your bed and glared at him as he picked at one of the peeling stickers on your suitcase. You bit your lip at him, playing with one of the loose threads from your shirt. You hadn't tasted alcohol in so long. you were the baby of the circus and so you had to be on your best behaviour at all times otherwise you would get the boot. And with no education and only a few dollars in your pocket you presumed you wouldn't get far.

Anyway, you had been touring for 2 years straight with no break; your body was aching and you craved mischief. You were a clown, after all! Your whole brain was filled with mischief. Plus, maybe having a few shots with Flea won't be too noticeable. 

“What's the percentage?” You mumbled, hoping he wouldn't hear you so you would have the opportunity to back out. You swallowed thickly; you hadn't done something like this since you were a child. 

Flea grinned at you again, hopping onto your bed and landing on his feet, crouching over you. With an laugh he pulled the whole bottle of of his bloomers and scanned the it for its percentage. Finally, his gaze met the bottom of the bottle and he let out a smug sigh.

“Interesting, very interesting…” He ran his thumb over the bottle, twisting it under the light and admiring the glasswork.

“What does it say?” You ask sheepishly, leaning into him to get a glance at the bottle.

“I can’t read.” He flicked the lid with his middle finger, sending the cap shooting toward some corner of your wagon. “Oh well, it’s legal so it wont kill me.” He too a deep breath before trying to neck the drink, but you caught his wrist just in time. You took the bottle and scanned it for a number. 40%. Yeah, this drink was legal, but it sure as hell could kill someone.

“Oh no you dont,” You tutted at the ginger who was now sticking his bottom lip out at you like a spoilt child. You rolled your eyes and pulled yourself up off the bed, picking up the cap and screwing it back on.

“Let’s save this for a rainy day,” You chime, not a hint of glee on your face. Tucking it away, you grabbed your colour circus poncho and flung it over your shoulders, slipping into your rain boots.

“But it is a rainy day…” Flea moaned, twiddling his thumbs and staring down at the floor like a sad little puppy.

You ignored him and gestured for him to get up.

“C’mon, we have our first show tomorrow, we need to at least get a few posters pasted up, rain or shine. Then, maybe, if you do your job right, ill let you have your drink back.” You opened the door and stepped out, pulling you hood up and holding the door open for Flea.

“You’re mean,” He half laughed, half groaned, walking out into the camp and toward the makeshift stables.

“You love it, really.” You replied, jogging to join him before elbowing him in the side, the both of you wearing mischievous little smiles.

  
  
  


* * *

After doing a little bit of convincing, the ringleader let you go out to paste up posters. You and Flea quickly took off into Derry with two buckets of pasting fluid and a fat stack of posters, pasting them onto every dry surface possible.Your sudden appearance in the town had piqued the locals interest. Kids and adults alike beamed up at you as you rode passed on your horse, Lucky. You offered a wave before oh-so-accidentally dropping a poster to their feet before galloping off to continue your work.

Before long, it was the evening, and your poster supply was running slim. Flea had long lost interest in the job at hand and was now in an in-depth conversation about politics with his horse. You took a turn off of the main road and headed back toward camp, embarking on an adventure down a long, long residential road.

Before you could take the next turn onto the street where the circus had set up, you came across a young boy. He adorned a bright yellow raincoat and little rainboots, his jeans wet from the ever-flowing rain. He seemed to be looking for something. You slowed Lucky down and held your hand out for Flea, slowing him down too. He was talking to himself, head cocking from side to side like a curious little cat, his big brown eyes darting around in the drain in front of him. He quickly dipped his small hand into the sewer and your motherly instincts kicked in. 

“You okay kid?” You jumped off of Lucky and quickly headed over to the kid. He looked up at you before his eyes were immediately brought back to the sewer. You drew nearer, kneeling down to his height when suddenly he pulled his hand out of the drain, a wet paper boat in his hand, a grin on his face.

“Uh-huh! I just nearly lost her,” He stood back up onto his feet with a little jump, showing off his gummy smile and shoving his boat in your face. You presumed ‘she’ was the boat.

“Woah, what a beauty!” Flea remarked from behind you. Flea loved to entertain kids, so this for him was showtime. 

“What’s she called?” Flea chimed back in, joining you on the floor. The boy bit his cheek and rocked on his heel.

“Hmmm… I don’t know… I haven't thought of a name yet…” 

“Why don’cha call her lucky, like Cupids’ here horse?” Fleas thick scottish accent made the boy giggle. Flea pointed toward your horse and the boy smiled up at you, silently asking for permission.

“ _ Lucky… _ ” He whispered, holding the boat close to him.

“What’s your name, son?” You asked, standing up to your full size again and quickly grabbing a poster from the bag on the side of your horse. 

“Georgie!” He rocked on his heel again, laughing as you gave him a big, cartoon smile.

“A lovely name for a lovely boy!” You replied, giving him one of the circus posters.

“You should come see the circus, Georgie! Tell them we’re your good friends and we will get’cha the best seats in the house!” Flea chimed in, tapping the tip of Georgies nose, causing his face to scrunch up. You gave him an honest smile as he nodded and began to walk away. You and Flea waited until he was far enough away before hopping on your horses again. You were about to ride off when you felt a gentle tug at your ankle.

“But… But i thought the circus got blown away by the storm?” Georgie whispered up to you with sad eyes. You gave Flea a confused look but he just shrugged.

“Well, were back and better than ever!” You sang, patting the top of his head, another sweet giggle erupting from him as he nodded once again and rushed down the street and into his home. 

* * *

How dare you.

How  _ dare you  _ steal its food, it thought.

A growl grew in the back its throat as it watched you from the sewers, offering protection to its next meal. If only it could see your face. Oh, if it just got one glance, one small look into your eyes it would know all about you and it would tear you down from the inside.

Its blood began to boil.

Maybe you were scared of spiders, or ghosts, or needles. No, that's too childish, it thought. Maybe it will just follow you home and kill you as Pennywise. Everyone was scared of clowns. 

It slinked away deeper into the sewer, your voice driving thin, icy needles through its brain, your words echoing through the waterways. To it, it all sounded like useless gibberish. But, out of the blue, it picked up on one word; circus.

Now you’d piqued it’s interest. It listened in.

It dawned on it that there was a circus in town.

“Lucky me,” He growled, a bubble of laughter escaping it as he shifted back into his clown form. It felt something hit its ankle; a piece of paper. Its eyes caught the big, red writing on the front.

“MISTER GREYS GREAT CIRCUS”

It laughed heartily, his novelty bells jingling when he stepped on the poster, drowning it in the dirty water. What a coincidence that, after 27 years, the circus of the man he corrupted had come back to Derry. 

If it could feel nostalgia, it would be right now. But, in this moment, it felt nothing but anger; it knew where to find you, and you would suffer for stealing his meal. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The morning greeted you with a smile. Little wisps of golden sunlight broke through the small cracks of your wagon. They kissed your skin, pulling you out of your slumber. Off in the distance you could hear Kylie Minouges pitchy voice playing from a radio. You growled and rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. That song had  been played over and over and over again on the radio. Why did everyone like Kyloe Minouge anyway? She wasn't even good. 

On both sides of your wagon you could hear your fellow performers rising from their sleep. The dull shift off slow footsteps against wood reminded you of how thin the walls of your wagon were. You hoped nobody heard you talking about alcohol last night, otherwise you might be in a spot of trouble.

You hopped out of bed and began rummaging through your casual clothes. You picking out a pink satin tent dress with big ruffles at the shoulders. The dress fell below the knees and kept you nice and warm. The first show was at 4pm tonight so you didn't need to get ready yet. Instead, you decided to relax in some casual clothes. You hadn't finished unpacking yet so you could dedicate most of your day to that. 

Before all that though, you had to make breakfast.

In the circus, there is no ‘I’( metaphorically , of course.) Everyone shared, everyone worked together. If you couldn't work as a team then you didn't belong at the circus. And, as the baby of the circus, it was your job to pick up all the boring chores. Every morning you had to get up and help Flea with cooking breakfast, then you would need to feed the horses. If that was all done before 12pm, you would have to report to the Ringmaster, Rick. He would then begin to list of shit he didn't want to do, and you would have to do it. 

With the idea of taking as long as possible to cook for camp and feed the horses, you pulled on some old socks and slipped on your rain boots again . The circus was a dirty place, especially behind the scenes. Mud seemed to seep into every nook and cranny. The smell of the earth clinging onto the clothes of the performers. As long as you were clean for showtime, that was ok. The circus was a generally dirty life anyway. 

You stepped out of your wagon and stretched your body out in the cool summer air. You feeling a chill creep up your dress and up your spine. Not too far away from your wagon was the mess tent. People had already made themselves a coffee and tea and were watching Flea with hungry eyes.  Behind a large he was cooking away like a slave, hot oil hissing at him like a feral cat as he tried to cook several pans of eggs at once . His eyes bulged out of his skull, a sheen of sweat on his pale skin. You giggled and hopped over the table to help him.

“Fuckin’ took you long enough, sleepin’ beauty!” He howled, his eyes not leaving the cooker. You rolled your eyes and tied your hair back, slipping past him to butter bread.  It was Saturday, which meant it  was fried egg sandwiches for breakfast, your personal favourite . Simple and satisfying, like all breakfasts should be. 

“Sorry,” You taunted, plating up a few sandwiches as performers began to queue for their morning meal . You quite liked this part of the day. 

Soon enough, most of the camp had  been watered and fed and made their way to get ready for the first show of the day. 

After eating your own breakfast, you looked up at Flea. He was avoiding your gaze, infatuated with a bug on the floor, a mouth full of food. 

“Flea,” You took a sip of your coffee and watched as his brows furrowed, pretending not to hear you.

“Flea, I brought Ricks’ breakfast yesterday. It’s your turn.” You stood up and chucked your empty plate into a box of suddy water. 

“He’s scary though,” Flea whined, finally gazing up at you with a pleading look on his face. “He called me a twat because I dinnae put enough sauce on his sandwich last week. I cannot show my face around him again. I am too ashamed.” 

Truth  be told , you  were scared of Rick as well. 

He was a formidable foe. He was rich, but nobody knew how. He liked to keep to himself  mostly , but you were one of the lucky few that got to know him  just a little bit better. He was sweetheart below his cold, hard demeanor. Afterall, he was a Ringmaster. He had to have some sort of charm. He towered above  all of the camp and he was broader than any man you met in your life. His body rippled with muscles, not an inch of fat on him.  His greying hair, thick, bushy brows and hint of wrinkles hinted something of a mysterious life before he took over the circus . He always seemed to  be tired , always seemed to be thinking.  You could be having the most in -depth conversation with him, but his mind would always be elsewhere, the cogs behind his eyes turning  just a millisecond before yours . 

“Fine, i'll take him his breakfast. But you have to feed the horses.” You huffed and prepared Rick's breakfast; a hearty fryup with a strong black coffee. 

You approached his wagon  slowly ; Rick was a very temperamental man. If he wanted to be in a bad mood, he would be, and there would be not much you could do about it. A hushed voice came from the wagon. No, there were two voices. One was  ever-so-slightly quieter, meeker than the other. A womans voice.

Now, you had no relationship with Rick, but with a man as good looking as he it was hard not to get jealous when he took on a lover. You out of everyone on camp knew about his antics all too well- you were  basically his assistant.  You bit the inside of your cheek and took a deep breath, the sounds of a woman giggling making you more and more nervous to knock the door .

Shall you  just leave? 

You stood at the bottom of the steps and turned on your heel, about to leave. But, as soon as you were about to step from the stair, the door flung open. 

There was Rick, a little lady glued to his side.  He himself was wearing nothing but a loose white night robe which hung  gently from his shoulders, exposing most of his tanned, olive chest . The lady on his side was  undoubtedly beautiful. Her hair was snow white and flowed down her spine like a Disney princesses’ would.  Her chalky skin and soft brown eyes stood out against Ricks dark silhouette, her pink night robe tied up so tight that it gave off the illusion of a needle-thin waist . You noticed something strange about her though. Something you couldn't place at first, something so bizarre you brain could not process it.

She had three breasts. 

You tore your eyes away, eyes searching for Ricks’ deep blue ones. He was looking at you with a sheepish grin on his face, a hand tangled in his lady friend's hair.

“G’mornin’” He sighed, nodding his head to you  lazily . You smiled back, raising your brows with a knowing look. To that he laughed. 

“Ooo well aren’t you a cutie?!” 

Ricks lady friend flew out of his arms and flew down the stairs and stopped  just in front of you. You stumbled for a reply as she played with your hair, whispering compliments at you. All you wanted to do was deliver some breakfast to your boss.

Rick finally made his way downstairs, picking a piece of bacon off of the plate and eating it.  Wrapping his hand back around his lady friend, he took his plate out of your hand, leaving you flabbergasted .  Before he left, he turned and mouthed a sorry at you, his lady friend babbling  freely as they made their way to the mess tent . 

They could of gotten the food themselves, and you could been unpacking right now.

With a fed up huff, you decided to go back to your wagon.  You had no more responsibilities left to attend to and Rick seemed too preoccupied to bother you with work .

As you were about to leave, you noticed something rather odd.  Near the box office stood a man in a suit, standing  perfectly upright under a little umbrella, reading off of a poster . He had no kids, no family.  Just guy in full formal clothes stood outside the box office. You waited and watched for a moment.  Maybe he was passing by?  Maybe he had kids at home that he needed to entertain for the weekend?

After a few seconds though, he did not move.  He stayed completely still and straight, his umbrella resting against his shoulder despite there being no rain . His eyes stayed fixed on the poster, a hint of a smile at the edge of his lips.  Maybe he needed some help?

You began to approach, trying your best to seem casual. When you were sure you were in ear shot you cleared your throat and put on a big, cartoon smile.

“Hiya mister, can I help you with anything?” You sang, rocking back on your heel, placing your hands behind your back.

For a moment, his eyes did not move. But  slowly ,  ever-so-slowly , they met yours. The hint of a smile at his lips faltered and his face began to twist, but in the blink of an eye he was back to normal. The hint of a smile at his lips came back. He raised his brows an inch, big soulful blue eyes greeting yours. You mentally took a note to take a power nap after this. You couldn't be hallucinating before your big show!

He straightened up further, his crisp grey suit falling  perfectly into place, not a wrinkle in sight . He was a good looking man. He was slim, but broad in all the right places. Sea blue eyes seemed to sparkle under the early morning sun. His face was sharp, sunken and shadowed in all the right places. He looked as if he belonged in the mafia.  His iris’ swirled with mischief, a vortex of playfulness hiding behind the facade of a businessman . Being a clown made you a good judge of character; after all, you were somebody else for a living. His dark brown hair  was filled with wax and slicked over to the side. If you didn't know any better you’d say his hair had been  freshly cut. 

After a minute, he didn’t reply. He  just looked at you as if you hadn’t said anything and was waiting for you to talk.

“We don't open up till-”

“My grandfather opened this circus,” he finally spoke, eyes never once leaving yours. You raised your brows in pretend shock, waiting for him to continue. But he didn’t. 

“Interesting!” You hollered back at him, a sarcastic hint in your voice. It seemed to go unnoticed. 

“It is nice to see it back again,” His demeanour changed.ne seemed to slouch and his mouth got looser, a cooler vibe radiating off of him .  Maybe he was  just nervous? You smiled and turned to admire the bigtop.

“Yeah, it’s a lovely little circus isn't it?” You said to nobody in particular. When you turned back to look at him, the man had one long arm outstretched to you. His hand  was gloved in what looked like silk, ribbed like mickey mouse's iconic gloves. You took his hand and he gave it one firm shake.

“Robert Grey. How do you do?” He finally seemed to be a little more comfortable. You kicked into full clown (knowing full well you had no clown makeup on) and shook his hand  vigorously . 

“Cupid, Cupid the clown! Nice ta’ meetcha!” It felt weird doing your performance out of costume to a man in a designer suit, but duty calls. Consistency and all that.

“Why do they call you Cupid, Cupid?” He asked  childishly , playing along with your gag. His hand was still wrapped around yours. His grim was firm, but friendly. He continued to shake your hand over  excitedly , his eyes wide and grin even wider. 

“Because she’s  just so lovely.”

A voice from behind you broke the bubble you were in. Roberts eyes tore away from yours and focussed on a spot jbehind you, the hood of his eyes shadowing his iris. His smile faltered  slightly and, if he had been a threat to you, you would of been a bit scared of his current expression. After a moment though, he straightened up to his full height once again. He was much taller than you. In fact, you had to look up to get a glimpse of his eyes. 

One large hand at the base of your spine straightened you up too. A warm body pressed into your side. It was Rick. His hand stayed still and wasn’t suggestive in any shape or form. It was solid, comforting. It was protecting you.

“Whos yer’ friend?” He quizzed, bringing up a paper cup full of coffee to his cracked lips, eyes narrowing as the steam hit him. You smiled up at your boss, then back to Robert.

“This is Robert. His grandad owned the circus in the past.” You said almost  proudly . Rick raised his brows at the man in front of you.  Robert shifted on his heel and kept his gaze low, giving Rick a curt smile before  quickly extending his hand to shake . Rick obliged and gave him one slow shake before Robert tore his hand away from your bosses. He mumbled a  barely audible ‘how do you do’ under his voice before looking down at his shoes.

What was wrong with this guy?

“Well,  Robert , our first show isn't until 4PM- it’s out grazing 10AM buddy.  Why dontcha come back later and let our lovely Cupid here get dolled up for her performance so you can see her put on a real show . Waddaya say?” 

Without another word, Robert beamed at you both and turned on his heel to leave. You looked up at Rick with an arched brow, with which he returned. He watched the man walk away before escorting you closer to your wagon.

“What a creep,” He finally mumbled, taking his hand off of your back. You looked over to where you watched him walk away, almost as if to check if he was still there. You were not threatened by the man. Not at all. Did Rick see something you didn’t? 

You both forgot about the incident and went about your days.  The first two performances of the year went well; minimal slip ups and sold out seats was a good start to any residency . Your part of the show went down a treat, but you didn’t see Robert. But, you did see Georgie in the crowd. You made sure to give him a wink.

Now you were in bed, your costume corset on the floor, stocking draped over your bedside table and a pair of tacky eyelashes reclined next to them . You were so, so tired. You hadn't even taken off your makeup! You lay in bed and reached for your diary, but  quickly decided against the idea. You would write in the morning.

The last conscious thought you had was that Robert character from earlier as you drifted off into a deep sleep .  You failed to notice a spindly figure at the end of the bed, towering over you, giggling as your consciousness left you… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this instead of doing very important artwork.


	3. Chapter 3.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The madness begins

Sleep washed over you like a cruel, cold wave. Air seeped through your soft cotton blanket and bit at your skin. Your bones were rigid and you ached. You did not dream. You could not dream. The back of your eyes burned like searing hot spheres, the skin behind them bubbling like a boiling stew. The bark of a dog off to the North brought you closer to consciousness every time it opened its jaws and yapped. 

But then it stopped.

Your brain still pulsed with irritation and it flipped you on your other side. Limbs splayed out slowly, grasping out to find comfort. But none came. 

Your eyes flutter open before closing again, taking in a deep breath as you forced yourself to relax into the grainy mattress. There. Perfect. You let out whatever air was left in you through your nose and felt the weight of sleep drag you back under once more, floating off into a much-needed sleep.

You would have gone under, all the way under, if a small creak at the bottom of your bed hadn’t alerted you.

Your eyes opened like two flashlights. You waited for a sound. A hint of something. Silence crept up your bed and held you captive. Adrenaline shot through you like a bullet. Your biggest fear was being taken in the night. 

Your single biggest fear was about to become a reality. 

With a sudden burst of confidence, you grabbed the candle holder on your bedside cabinet and kicked the sheets off of you, springing into action like a jack-in-the-box. 

But there was nothing there. 

You took one more look around before daring to stand up and peek under your bed.

But there was nothing there.

Determined, you rushed to the front of the wagon to check the door. Locked. The key was still around your neck. You slowly turned to your little wardrobe and slid open the door.

But there was nothing there.

You huffed and checked the door once again. You were just tired, that's all. You need a good night's sleep. You yawned and stretched out your arms, joints popping and cracking. The fear you felt melted away with your fatigue and you were once again ready for bed. Yawning again, you lifted your hand to your mouth and squeezed your eyes shut, turning and walking to your bed. 

“Oi.” 

There, on your dresser, was a man. He sat, kneeling, arms up resting on his knees, feet planted firmly on the flat surface of the dresser. You froze like a deer in the headlights, fear bubbling up again, white hot heat spreading from the tips of your toes and all the way to the back of your neck.

Yellow eyes burned into you, A mechanical whirr emanating from its chest. It cocked its head at you. Your heart began to beat fast, jackhammering against your chest, clammy fingers gripping the candle holder with all your might. It did not move, it did not talk. It just sat and watched. 

You swung.

You swung with all your weight, using every inch of power in your tiny form to swing for the thing on your dresser, a cry of fear escaping your trembling lips. You sealed your eyes closed, biting your lip as you braced for impact. You were not one for gore.

But the impact never came.

The man, the It, whatever it was was holding your wrist in a gloved hand. It tapped its silky fingers against your skin in a slow succession before a childish giggle left its mouth. The burnt-out wick in the bottom of the candle holder suddenly blazed to life, cracking and spitting at you as the red flame engulfed all the oxygen it could. Then, you saw it.

A clown.

The clown was a clone of every white faced, orange haired, big lipped buffoon you had ever seen in your life. Little tufts of hair curled into devil horns, soft and wispy like cotton candy. His skin reminded you of a cake that had been left in the sun for too long, buttercream cracked and hardened to the touch. His eyes were dark with makeup, clumps of what looked like mascara or eyeliner gathered around the lid of his eyes and coated his lashes. His lips were a dark red, almost black under the saturated light of the candle. They glistened with a thick layer of saliva that ran from his swollen lips, dripping down onto the floor. Little red ribbons of paint followed the contour of his face and forehead. Those yellow eyes of his continued to bore into you as his grin grew wider, a set of buck teeth presenting themselves to you. You swallowed a gasp, eyebrows furrowing as his hand tightened around you.

A drop of wax fell from what was left of the candle and landed on the skin of your hand. You hissed, pulling your hand from the clown. He did not budge. Instead, he let out another laugh, tipping the candleholder so that the wax continued to drip. You pulled away once more and the clown growled, tutting and wagging his free hand at you.

“Nu-uh. C’mon Cupid, don'tcha wanna play with the clown?” He pouted his bottom lip out at you. The flame suddenly grew again and you watched as a stream of wax flow down the candle holder toward your fingers. You let out a quiet shriek, feeling time consume you as you prepared yourself for the heat. You continued to pull despite the clowns warnings, nearly pulling your whole arm out of its socket in the process. The clown was watching you, smiling, snickering at your scared form. You were scared. So, so scared. You dared to peek at the candleholder to see the wax still flowing toward you, faster and thicker than before.

You let out a shrill cry as you pulled with all your might.

But no pain came. 

You looked back over your shoulder, confused. The clown was still smiling at you, but the wax had stopped. No, it had not stopped. It was floating _ upward _ , _ away _ from you. 

The clowns grin faltered slightly,a bloodshot ring now formed around his iris. His hand snaked up your arm and trapped your small hand in his, tightening his grip on your digits. You felt the bones in your fingers pressed together, cracking and snapping with the pressure. 

“Please no no no!” You stuttered, pleading with him as you stared into his eyes. The pressure was suddenly gone, and in your hand you felt wetness. The candleholder was gone, replaced with…

Bubbles?

Hundreds of bubbles came from the palm of your hand, floating to the roof of the wagon and popping when they hit the wood. 

The clown began to cry.

For a moment, you felt your chest tighten with concern. He had his head on his hand and was sitting with his back against the wall, rocking slowly. You watched carefully.

He looked up at you with a sad look on his face, tears rolling down his face. He raised a hand to the air. The fingers were broken and snapped, bent back and bloody.

“Oh nooooo! No ** _pleaaaase_ ** ! Please don’t hurt _ meeee _!” He was mimicking you. He spluttered out a roll of pleading words, crawling toward you, his hand gushing blood on the floor. You backed up as far as you could go before you fell back into your bed. You landed with a thud. As quickly as you can, you shot back up, but the clown was gone.

“Surprise!”

The clown fell from the roof and pinned you to the mattress with a force you could not see. His hands scraped up your neck as he studied your face, a manic glint in his eyes. One gloved hand wrapped out your frail neck and you began to panic and squirm beneath him, your bedrobes rubbing uncomfortably against his silken suit. 

This was it.

This was the end.

This was how you were going to die.

You were going to be choked out by some ethereal clown that broke into your circus wagon. If you were not in this situation, you would have laughed at a headline like that on the news. Let's hope they put that exact description on your tombstone so the world can laugh for you. 

The clown took one deep, deep breath through his nose, almost as if he was sniffing you, scenting you. Then, a wet, long tongue dropped from its lips and dragged itself over the side of your face. His eyes brightened and his choke tightened as his eyes rolled back into his skull. Then, he came down like a rabid animal, clasping both hands around your neck. You shrieked as the clown came undone above you, his novelty bells jingling as his body shook and you writhed beneath him. He began to howl with laughter, thin pin point pressed against your jugular, his claws drawing blood.

“Are you scared? Are you _ scared _ ? Awh, are you SCARED of ol’ Pennywise? ARE YOU _ SCARED _ OF ME (Y/N)? SO SCARED YOU COULD **DIE**?!” 

You woke with a scream. You screamed so loud you were sure people on the other side of the world could hear you; your throat burned as you reached for your throat, fingers prodding where the clown had cut you, to find no wound. 

Flea was suddenly in your wagon, your nerves were so fried you didn't notice him kick the lock right off the door. His face was twisted in worry as he came to your side. His lips were moving, but the words were not forming. You could not hear him. You lay back down in your bed as Flea continued to talk. Looking up to your roof, you felt the chill of fear creep back up your spine…

There, in bright red wax read … 

“ SEE YOU SOON! “ 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pennywise isnt done with you yet.
> 
> I have yet to beta this so let me know if there are any issues <3 ALSO THANKS FOR THE ABSOLUTELY OVERWHELMING SUPPORT!!!!!


	4. Chapter 4.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theres a new clown in town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy all!! I did a drawing of Cupids wagon. It literally took me hours so it would be really appreciated if you could show it some love. Leave a comment so i know you came from here hehehee. Anyway here chapter 4. I hope ya like it :)
> 
> https://rottengirll69.tumblr.com/post/188023084567/she-was-born-in-the-wagon-of-a-travelling-show

Pennywise was hungry. He had just fed, but he was still hungry, hungry for something else. Hungry for  _ you _ . He had caught just a taste of your blood and had got a peek into your soul. You were a tough cookie. Your soul was locked up like fort knox, a wall as thick as steel surrounding it. He sucked his teeth, picking out flecks of bone and flesh from between them with his serpent-like tongue. 

He had just had a little snack. An easy feed, really. Just on the edge of the barrens a little lady sat crying. Her boyfriend had dumped her. Hungry and quite frankly bored, he lured her away in his human form and feasted on her flesh. It wasn't good enough though. He had only got a drop of blood from you, but you had already spoilt his pallette. 

Oh, he was going to savour every little bit of you.

He was in his lair, splayed out on a pile of old mattresses. What was this feeling? Rage? Lust? Excitement? He didn't like it.With a huff he rolled onto one side and played with a button on the bed, being uncharacteristically human. Why did you drive him so crazy?

“No, this won't do.” He shook his head and sat up, straight as an arrow. He needed a plan. He needed to be closer to you so he could study you. He wanted to drive you crazy; learn everything about you then tear you down from the inside before devouring you whole.

Then it hit him.

Why not do what he knows best and join the circus? Pennywise let out a shriek of laughter. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?! 

“Ooo Pennywise is a smart little thing,  _ yes _ he is!” He leapt up, eyes flaring red as his muscles began to pop and shrink, bones crunching within him as his skin began to take a warmer tone. The soul of Bob Grey began to whirr inside him as he transformed into a younger, more handsome take on Bob. You liked that form, after all. 

He stretched his spine out once the transformation had finished, noticing the little puffs of red wool still stayed put on his shoes. 

“Oops,” He whispered, shaking his feet until they disappeared. Now he was ready. In a nice, white shirt and some slacks he left the sewers, his dark mahogany hair slicked back and matted. Of course, he kept his gloves on but decided to leave the ruffled collar off of them until he’d been accepted into the circus for real.

He just had to play a normal man. He hated it, but he knew he had to do it if he wanted to get his meal. Meat is better when it’s well salted, after all. 

* * *

You were currently rolled up in a bundle of blankets, a cup of hot tea in your hands. Flea was next to you as Minnie, the resident Mime, prepared you a herbal medicine to help you with your stress.

The whole camp had heard your shriek last night, and you were embarrassed. You knew deep, deep down that man you saw last night was nothing but a figment of your imagination, but it felt so real. Rick had insisted you have to day off; as far as he was concerned, you had been sleeping poorly and needed to catch up on your rest. But you know it wasn't because you were tired.

Fatigue doesn’t do that. Fatigue doesn't personify itself and slit your throat with its claws. You shuddered again, taking a sip of tea and turning to Flea.

“He looked like you, you know.” You half joked, smiling weakly at him.

“Are you implying it was me?” He asked, a tinge of offence on his tongue.

“No, but he just looked like you. He was ginger. Had the stupid triagnle things, too. However, he had this big puffs of hair; that's how I know it wasn't you, you baldy.” You wriggled a hand free to stroke his peach-fuzz head. Minnie brought over a tray with a few little trinkets on. One was like a spoon but it was deeper and filled with a honey-like liquid. The other was a bowl that was brimming with a brightly coloured soup. She bowed her head and passed you the tray before leaving the wagon.

Minnie was nice. She was a mime so she didn't talk much, but actions speak louder than words. She was always there, always helping her campmates out. She also knew witchcraft, which made her perfect for helping you would with a sudden spike in stress. Once she’d heard the news about you, she hurried over with a basket of herbs and silently promised to make you better.

You smiled down at the food and began to eat it slowly. 

The air around you was saturated with a spicy perfume, a strange and exotic mix of flavours dancing on your tongue. You moaned into the taste and relaxed against the back wall of your wagon. You felt the stress of your dream leave your body.

“Can I have some?” Flea asked with a mischievous smile. You passed him the spoon and he took a big slurp from the bowl, his eyes widening.

“Fuckin’ hell! That’s fan-dabby-bloody-doosey!” He cried, shovelling another spoonful into his mouth. You giggled with him as he slurped it all up.

“Careful, it might send you loopy.” You warned, resting a hand on his forearm. He stopped then, dropping the spoon 

“(Y/n), I worry about you. You work harder than anyone onsight, you know that?” He smiled down at you. “I think you deserve a rest.”

“Thank you,” You squeezed him hard. “But, I can't sit around and do nothing all day because I had a scary dream. I'm going out, i'll be back later.” You scratched his head and piled the blankets onto him, heading out the door before he could protest.

You headed out into the town of Derry to pick up some stuff for your wagon, and bits and bobs for Rick. You were only gone a few hours, but it was nice to feel human again; free of clown makeup, free of stares. Just you. No Cupid, no clown, just you. 

You arrived back on camp at about 6pm. The sun was setting, a golden sun kissed light bathing the circus in warmth, neon lights flickering to light in preparation for the evening show. The smell of peanuts and cotton candy was thick in the air and filled your lungs, a nostalgic feeling washing over you and warming you chest. You had always been a carnival girl at heart.

However, when you got back, the place was a ghost town. The box office was empty, the tents were vacant the stalls were unoccupied. Had you been in some city up in Nevada, it would of only been fitting for a tumbleweed to roll on by. But instead, here you were at the entrance with not a soul in sight.

A harmony of laughter caught your attention. The big top boomed with giggles and snickers. Had you missed showtime? No, there was no music. No cars in the car park. What was going on?

You quickly tiptoed over to the bigtop and pulled back the main flap with your index finger to see the ring filled with people. In and out of costume, you recognised your campmates as they laughed with each other. Your eyes searched around for what they were laughing at. A figure danced in the saturated light on the centre stage. The light was so bright you had to squint to make out who it was. 

Soft ruffles bounced as the performer began to do another act, when suddenly they stopped and looked at your way. They knocked their head back and took a breath with gusto before leaping off the stage, sprinting toward you. Before you knew it, they were in front of you, a gloved hand stretched out to greet you. You took it, your brain catching up with time. They gave it a squeeze before they let out a childish giggle.

“Well if it isn’t my ol’ pal Cupid the Clown!” 

Your heart. Your heart was no longer beating. No, it was vibrating, shaking with so much intensity that you feared it would leap right out of your chest.

Big blue eyes greeted yours as a pair of soft lips found themselves on your knuckles, leaving a small ring of red lipstick on your skin.

It was  _ Robert Grey. _

There he was in full clown makeup, little ribbons of red paint streaked down his cheeks. You couldn't help but cock your head at his makeup. It seemed so familiar. He was in the simplest of clown costumes; presumably given to him as a standard suit until he could get his own custom made.

“R-Robert?” You squeaked, watching as his looming form folded so he could be at eye-level at you. A few of the circus girls made a few snarky comments behind your back, but you couldn't care less.

“In the flesh!” He howled, producing a bright red flower from his gloved hand. “A pretty flower for a pretty girl!” 

You laughed at his cheesy trick and took it from him. The crowd had one last look over you both before slowly beginning to disperse. Robert began to walk to the stalls and took a seat in the front row, nodding his head at you to join him. 

“What brings you here?” You asked, nervously taking a seat next to him.

He turned to you with a puzzled look.

“Well, how could i stay away?” He laughed again, “I couldn’t pass up on the opportunity to be reunited with my grandpappy, oh no I couldn't!” He sang, leaning back onto the row behind him. “Bless his soul,” He played the sympathy card and made sure to curl his brows upward. God, being human was hard. 

“Aww…” You shuffled closer to him and rubbed his arm. His eyes snapped to the point of contact, muscle going rigid. You flinched and pulled your hand away quickly. “Oh, my bad! Sorry!” You apologised profusely, a string of ‘sorrys’ rolling from your lips. He watched with an amused grin before taking another ragged breath through his nose.

“Are you wearing perfume?” He asked innocently. He knew you werent, but you absolutely reeked of fear. Even if it was just for a moment, he caught enough to make him drool. You shook your head as he began to compose himself again. He was growing hungry, and the more you babbled on the hungried he became. It took everything in his willpower not to turn into Pennywise and scare you shitless where you sat. He faked a yawn and stretched his limbs out, standing up dramatically.

“Oh, Cupid, it’s been lovely catching up with ya’, but this ol’ clowns gotta rest. Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite!” He chimed, ruffing you hair as he slinked away. You took a moment to sit by yourself as the stage crew began to fix up the ring for tonight's show. 

Robert Grey, the strangest- but most  _ delicious- _ man you had ever known had just joined your circus. You tried not to get too excited, foot tapping happily as you began to conjure up stupid teenage fantasies with the bizzare man. You headed back to your wagon for the evening, the clown that haunts your dreams long forgotten. Tonight, you thought of something else. Tonight you thought of Robert, and he thought of you. 

  
  



	5. Chapter 5.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick has his suspicions.

The morning was spent in Ricks office. As soon as you were fed and watered he had called you and his other close companions into his office to talk. At first you were worried he had heard about your little alcohol stash, but judging from the bountiful supply of spirits on his shelves you doubted he would be too mad if he ever actually found out. While you sat listening to your boss, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit out of place. Rick listed off issues about finance and travel and advertisement. That would seem normal to the normal person but Rick liked to keep those things to himself. Not only that, but he wasn't asking for help. He was just listing off his issues. 

When he finally got to the end of his long, long, long list of issues he dismissed everyone. Everyone but you.

Maybe he did find the alcohol stash after all.

He cleared his throat and shuffled forward in his big, leather seat. You kept your eyes low, palms sweaty with nervousness.

“Now (y/n), I’m sure you know what this is about.” He began, his big meaty hands flexing and unflexing on the desk, heavy grey eyes watching yours.

“Sir, before you throw me onto the street I just want to say it was Fleas’ idea. I know it's the biggest rule on camp and i know i broke it but it wasn't my fault.” You spluttered, wincing as you waited for his response. When you dared to take a peek at him he was looking at you with a quizzical expression.

“What?” He asked, his bushy brows narrowing at you. It was a trick, you thought. He was going to trick you into admitting your crime. You thought it would be better not to lie and maybe he will give you a decent compensation pay packet. 

“You know.. the vodka?” You finally admitted, shrugging your shoulders as you felt his face change. You were too scared to look at him again, too scared to face up to what you had done. 

“Whaddaya- Doll, do you really think I care about that rule?” He snorted and spun around in his chair, gesturing to all of his sparkling crystal decanters full of golden brown liquids. 

You felt a pang of embarrassment shoot up from your stomach and into your brain, hitting you like a wave of nausea. Rick let out a hearty laugh as he stood up and reached for one of his decanters, grabbing two small glasses from the shelf beneath it. He laughed again at your dumbfounded expression, setting down the glasses and pouring two drinks out, sliding one to you.

“I only say that to the rookies so they don't get misbehavin’ behind my back. You really tellin’ me you ain’t had a drink in what- two years?” He sipped his drink, hissing as the sweet heat made its way down his throat, his adam's apple bobbing.

“Oh (y/n), what would i do without you, eh?” He knocked the rest of his drink back and let out a soft “woo!” As he slammed the cup down. You eyed your glass suspiciously, maybe this was part of the trick? He was trying to get you to drink in front of him so he could fire you and have proof of your-

“It won't bite, just have a little. It’ll do ya good.” He shuffled forward in his seat again as you dip your finger into the drink and licked it clean. It burned your tongue and left it dry as sandpaper, but was comforting nonetheless.

“No, for real, I have to talk to you about somethin’. It’s about that Robert character.” He looked at you with a knowing look. But what was there to know? You nodded and he took a deep breath through his nose.

“Are you okay with it? With him being here?” Now it was your turn to give him the confused look.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You tilted your head at him as he poured himself another drink.

“Well, I know you had that weird encounter with him not long ago and I just wanted to make sure you aint bothered by him being here. I gotta look out for my people.” He rimmed the edge of his cup with his finger like a nervous child, giving cup a hard glare, deep in thought. “To be perfectly honest, I dunno if I  _ myself _ am happy with him bein’ here. Get a weird vibe from him. Can’t quite put a finger on it.” He punctuated the end of his sentence by bringing his finger on the rim of his glass to a halt, grasping it and taking a sip.

“I know what you mean,” You hummed and took a swig of your drink too, your eyes meeting Ricks over the edge of the glass. “But aren’t we all a little weird?” You giggled and finished off your drink. He laughed through his nose with a lazy grin, stroking his thick, hoarse beard with his free hand. 

“Suppose so. I tell ya what, I'll give him a week. See how the kids react. If he brings home the bacon but he's a bit of a nutjob then…” He rubbed his thumb and front two fingers together. You could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes. A sleazy grin grew on his lips as he settled back down into his seat. “You know what’s fuckin’ crazy? I don’t even know what he does.” He laughed, now racking a hand through his dark hair.

“I was so tired that I just went ‘yeah, okay, welcome to the circus buddy.’ I don't know what came over me. I just remember bein’ tired and his stupid little grin as he shook my hand. Suzie loves him. Can’t get enough of him.” 

Suzie was Ricks sister. A lion-tamer and a fierce bitch. She was plump, gorgeous and full of fire. Rick and Suzie were brought up in Texas on a little farm. Rick was much older than Suzie and had been born in New York and lived their most of his life before his parents moved to Texas. As soon as he was old enough, Rick moved straight back to New York to pursue his dreams of becoming the next Frank Sinatra. Suzie, born not long after Ricks move, was taught with a smooth southern style and picked up a Texan accent which, at first, bugged her parents. After the mysterious death of her parents, she fell into a rough patch and left school and became a cabaret dancer at 19. If it paid her, she did it. Then one day, once Rick had heard the news on his parents, He moved back to Texas to get his sister and move away from it all. That was when they caught wind of a failing circus in the local town on its last legs of its final tour. Rick seized the opportunity with open arms and invested his parents inheritance into it. The tents got bigger and the lights got brighter. New acts were being introduced every week. Rick was living his dream. He was no Frank Sinatra, but being the next PT barnum wasn’t bad either. 

You smiled at him, not too sure how to respond. Robert was very handsome, and hearing the ringmasters sister was pursuing him hurt your heart a little. Rick checked his watch and stood up suddenly. 

“Right, I gotta do some things. You ok to perform tonight? The show aint the same without ya, toots.” He tapped you on the back as he made his way out of the office, holding the door open for you. You followed him out before he stopped you at the threshold of the door.

“And remember, if that freak bothers you again don't hesitate to tell me.” He winked at you and you nodded quickly before making your own way to do your errands. You had a lot to do to prepare for the show.

//

The show had just begun.

Streaks of crimson, orange, purple and pink streaked through the thick atmosphere of the big top, acrobats flying from stool to post, dazzling technicolour jewels flaring under the heavy heat of the stage lights. A harmony of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ left the lips of the audience as dancers and fire breathers and contortionists came out one after the other, daring tightrope acts leaving the audience stunned and terrified. Suzie brought out her lions, puffing out her chest as the audience gasped at the ferocity of her whip. Her lions roared, ran and lept through the ring, all under Suzies command. Her red lips glistened as she moved slowly around the ring, stroking her pets lovingly, risking it all to give her biggest lion a kiss on the cheek. You were no animal expert, but the lion seemed contented with the kiss and did another trick. 

You were up next. You puffed your hair and pushed your breasts up to the rim of your corset. Puckering your lips, you applied one more layer of gloss- you can never be too prepared. 

You were a clown. Sort of, anyway. You did a number in some clown makeup and acted all sweet for the audience. Of course, you were funny, but you also had to be  _ sexy _ . You cringed to yourself at the idea of a sexy clown, but alas, here you were.

You watched as Suzie did her final bow, prancing off stage and over to you, her lions going over to their cages by themselves to feast on their pre-prepared meal.

“Yer up, sweetheart.” She tilted her head toward the stage entrance and continued to walk passed you and over to Robert. He was on after you. You glanced over quickly and watched him fix his wig as Suzie rested against the mirror he was working at, blocking him from your view. The audience were still clapping, and you could hear Rick begin to give his usual mid-show speech. Giving yourself one more look in the mirror, you headed over to the stage entrance to wait for Rick to announce your act.

That was when you felt two big hands snake their way up and over your shoulders.

“You look a little tense, missy.” Robert cooed from behind your, his hands rubbing your shoulders softly. You tensed up even more, a hot flush suddenly rising to your cheeks. He laughed breathily at your reaction before continuing with his little massage. 

“I wont hurt ya, promise. Let me do you this one favour.” He tapped all of his fingers against your flesh in succession before digging his digits into your shoulder muscles. Now that he says it, you had been feeling a little tense. 

“Why, thank you.” You replied, looking over your shoulder to laugh with him, melting into his touch just a bit. He looked the same in clown makeup. The only difference was his hair; long, orange locks were greased back behind his ears and flicked up at the ends. He must need a lot of styling spray to keep his wig like that. Big, plump red lips were glossed and his skin was pearly white. On his eyes he had two little red ribbons which ended on the apple of his cheeks. At the end of his painted grin were two big red dots where his dimples where. He smiled up at you, his buck teeth showing, as he pulled away, patting you on the head. 

“Break a leg, princess.” He disappeared into the shadows. You shook yourself from dreamland, the sensation of his hands still lingering on your skin. 

“And now it’s the moment you’ve alllll been waiting for… performing a special song just for you, iiiiiit’s Cupid the Clown!” 

The curtain opens, the lights down.

You crept onto the stage and redied yourself, facing away from the audience as suddenly the lights came up. You turned to them, dumbfounded. You opened your eyes as wide as they could go, your lips forming a big ‘O’ shape as the music began. You began to dance. Your act was silly, but saucy. You played the foolish circus girl, the innocent little clown. The music was quick and snappy and pulled at strings that only you could see, raising you like a puppet and pulling you along the mammoth big tops main stage. The band played frivolously behind you as you pretended to stumble and fall, arching your back off the hay covered floor before picking yourself up as the music reached its climax. You watched the audience carefully. The kids of Derry beamed at your brightly, their gummy smiles spurring you onto finish your act. You jumped and jived and shimmied about until a thin layer of sweat glistened and glittered. You took your bow as the audience erupted into applause, sending warmth through your soul as you beamed at the audience one more time before skipping off stage. Reaching the curtain, you turned to wave again and blow a kiss, but you foot got caught. You began to fall and before you had time to react you were plumpeting toward the floor. You braced for impact.

But it never came.

Blue eyes greeted you as you slowly opened your own. A hand tucked below your waist had protected you from your fall. The audience gasped as though you were performing a pantomime. Robert had saved you. You then realised you were technically still performing. You closed your eyes and turned away from Robert with a shocked expression, letting a hand fall onto your forehead as Robert pulled you up with a goofy grin, setting you on your feet before bowing deeply at your feet. You then looked at the audience again, lifting your hands to your mouth, bending down to kiss him on the forehead. 

“My saviour!” You chimed, twirling as Robert got back onto his feet and ruffled your hair, running out onto the stage to do his own act. Then the curtains closed, and you were in the dark. 

“Fucking hell,” Flea cried from behind you. You turned and laughed at him. His face was stuck between amusement and disgust. Flea was your best friend, and in all the time you’d known him he had never seen you get the hots for someone. You ran and gave him a playful push. He looked you up and down before you both went back to his wagon with a bag of hot donuts and some popcorn, finally breaking the seal of his vodka bottle. The last thing you remembered was stumbling back to your wagon late at night, the stars above you clear as day, guiding you to your bed. 

  
  


You woke up to the sound of dripping, the cold creeping up your skin. You could feel your corset nipping at your armpits and chafing your thighs, a rancid smell filling your lungs and forcing you to awaken. You tried to open your eyes, but they were seared shut with sleep. Maybe you had fallen asleep with the door open and the smell of the mud was extra strong tonight. Yeah, that was it. You took a deep breath and drifted back to sleep, unfussed about your lack of blanket, the quiet sound of dripping lulling you back to dreamland.

A certain clown sat inches from you, silent and still. He suppressed a laugh as he watched you doze back off. He wouldn’t wake you yet. You stunk of happiness. In human terms, happiness to Pennywise tasted like a way-too-chocalatey cake. He avoided it like a demon avoids holy water. He was a savoury man himself.

But, like any good chef would say, food is best when there is a variety of flavour. Sweet compliments savoury, and he couldn't wait to scare the living daylights out of you when you finally rose from your rest.

You would need all the strength you could muster for what he had planned for you.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!! Holy shit???? Thank you for all the support!!!! You guys have been leaving the sweetest comments and blowing up mu tumblr and i cant thank you enough <3 i have big plans for this so thank you for being apart of this story!!
> 
> Also, pennywise x reader reqs are open on my tumblr and tonight im going to be doing some sketches of robert in alternate pennywise makeup (he was smart enough to change up his makeup so the reader wouldnt connect the dots.) ill put a link to my tumblr below!!
> 
> Once again thank you for all the love <3
> 
> https://rottengirll69.tumblr.com/post/188297211837/pennywise-requests-are-open

**Author's Note:**

> wahOOOOOO
> 
> Idk i just suddenly became a clownfucker  
Also its like 3am and i cant be bothered to beta so please let me know if there are any spelling mistakes.
> 
> I also did a sketch for what Flea looks like, ill put a link below :) 
> 
> https://rottengirll69.tumblr.com/post/187863097712/meet-my-clown-babies-im-bout-to-throw-them


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